The attendant, after notifying Advisor Sweren of Sir Varus’ absence since the morning, let the three of them into the room and waited outside.

The room was almost as Nira had left it this morning: a mess. The bed where she slept was not made. Sir Varus’ clothing was still peeking from his travel case. The only thing that had changed, since the morning, were the things on and around Sir Varus’ table. Rather than the jumble of papers that Nira had left, everything was neatly binded, placed into folders, and placed into four distinct piles, a few sheets still carrying the crimson wine stains from the first night. The pen and ink bottle positioned neatly near the corner. The books he brought created small towers on the ground; they might have been sorted by subject, but she wasn’t sure. Around the towers of books were his multitude of bags.

“Good. He isn’t here. This will make it easier. Girl, where is the information he brought?” said Advisor Sweren.

Money. That is all what she wanted since the day Odilia told her that she could buy her freedom. Five silver coins. That's is all it would cost. She had earned a couple hundred copper pieces by herself, and Odilia had left her another few hundred to help. But now she could get the rest, and more, easily. Everything would be over. Her world would be in her control now. Cheril, Milda, and Ja would be saved too.

She walked into the middle of the room.

Was she in the right? Was there ever even such a thing as being in the right in life? Good people are supposed to protect and bad people are supposed to hurt, that is what all the stories say. At the end of those stories, good always wins. So even if she went through with this, Sir Varus would still be able to save the world, right?

She thought about her family and friends.

No. Thousands, if not millions, of people would die. Starve. Many of them would end up being cursed to the same fate as Nira, and maybe some of them would make a decision just like this. Everything would play into the hands of this king. This psychotic king. The world that Sir Varus spoke of, it was the one that Nira always wanted when she was younger. It was one that she still wanted. It would be a beautiful world where the people would be stronger and have the power to follow their dreams and not be stuck in the life that is forced upon them by life. So was her freedom worth the torment she would place upon the millions of families around the kingdom and the world?

She was just Nira.

She was just one life in a sea of millions. And now she controlled the fate of them all.

She looked at the table and the papers.

Sir Varus was a good man. There was no other way to put it. He was a good man trying his damn hardest to help each person find the light in their own hearts. On the opposite end, the king was a man trying to sell torches.

There was only one path she should take. But, her family. She missed them. Tears started welling up in her eyes.

“God, please let me do this. I will ask for forgiveness everyday and turn my life to good. I swear. I miss my family. Oh, how I miss them. My pa’s smile. My ma’s touch. I have been alone for far too long now, and I just want to see them again. Is that too much to ask? Is that too much to ask for a girl like me? I haven’t done anything wrong in my life, so why am I here? Why did you do this to me? I try to be good. I do. I do. I do. So please, tell me, why did you curse me and continue to do so everyday? Why don’t you free me? Why don’t you help? Ma told me you were supposed to protect the weak, so why am I here? Please god, please help,” Nira screamed a thought so loud that it would definitely reach the one above. But with all her energy spent on shouting at the heavens, only a small whisper escaped her lips, “I just want to go home… please.”

No answer came. Maybe the one above wasn't listening or maybe he didn’t care. Either way, she was alone.

Focus.

What would mother do in this situation? What would father do? Cheril? Odilia? Milda? Ja? What is any man or woman supposed to do?

Protect the weak. Fight for what is right. And never give in to evil. That is the duty of every man, woman, and child.

The final words of Avicenna in “The First Hero” echoed in her mother’s voice. The tale read to her so many times over the course of her life; she finally understood what it truly meant, and the choice became dismally clear.

Nira walked towards the table. And she began shuffling through the several stacks of papers. The advisor walked up behind Nira, and peered over her shoulder, while Sir Bucken just waited at attention by the door.

After several minutes of shuffling through the stacks of papers, Nira said, “Sir, the paper with the information I saw isn’t here.”

“Girl, don’t screw this up now. Find me what I need.”

“Of course, advisor. I think I may have an idea of where he stored it.”

Nira grabbed some paper clippers from Sir Varus’ desk, and made her way to the chest. Would this plan work? After a few minutes, she repeated what she accomplished earlier in the same day. A loud “Thunk” rang around the room.

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“Girl, you can pick locks?”

“Yes advisor, I learned how before my time at the castle.”

The Advisor turned to Sir Bucken with a stern look, who nodded in response and seemingly took a mental note of her malicious ability.

Nira feigned searching through the items and papers in the chest. But she knew where the thing she wanted was right from the start. Of course she did. Nothing in the chest had moved since she last opened it. The gilded piece of paper, in all its embroidery and fanciness, was right where she had left it, at the top of the pile of papers. She knew it looked valuable. Valuable enough for a dumb servant to think of making a few coins from it.

She lifted the paper carefully and handed it to the Advisor. Was she really doing this?

“This is it, sir. This is the paper he had in his hand as he told me about his plans.”

Advisor Sweren held it closely to his head and examined it.

Nira’s heart pounded. The only thing stirring harder inside her were the butterflies in her stomach. If god hadn’t done anything yet, now would be a good time as well. A lightning bolt to strike the advisor would suffice -maybe Sir Bucken as well. But as expected, god was disappointing.

After a few moments, Advisor Sweren screamed, “This is garbage! Girl, are you making a fool of me?” He ripped the paper into pieces and threw them in the air, the little bits raining down slowly.

“Advisor, that may have not been wise. We shouldn’t make our intrusion known,” said Sir Bucken.

“Levedi can eat shit. And if he asks, blame it on this wrench.” Advisor Sweren turned to Nira, and with a wicked smile continued, “Just tell him that you caught her snooping around, and we entered to stop her. We couldn’t get to her before she destroyed this letter.” Then the Advisor’s smile grew to even more sinister proportions and he said, “But tell him that he shouldn’t be worried, because we will duly punish the criminal.”

Nira sat on the ground shocked. This was it then. Duly punished. Understanding the situation, it would be anything but duly. She would be beaten at the least. Servants who angered people like the advisor never survived unscathed.

“Making me look like a fool in front of the king,” Advisor Sweren grumbled. He then said, “Roirten, look through the things on the table while I look in this chest. This girl has to be hiding something; the king looked at her.”

Sir Bucken went to the table and carefully started looking through the stacks of papers and books. Making sure nothing was damaged and everything was always returned to its original location, he moved through the material.

But if Sir Bucken was a cat, delicate and precise with his actions, then Advisor Sweren was a pig. He threw things out of the chest with no regard. Nira was even hit by a toy wooden cow. It left a small mark on her head, drawing blood. But she didn’t care. The scar left would be dwarfed by what was about to come for her.

“Advisor, there is a problem.”

“What?”

“I cannot read any of these books or papers. They aren’t in our language, and I don’t think it is the language of Istria either.”

The advisor hurried to the table to join Sir Bucken. He picked a piece of paper to take a look. Then another. And another. And another. His eyes widening with every moment that passed.

“You are right. I have never seen anything like this before. It might be encrypted,” he said, shuffling through all the items on the table, “Everything is in this code. The books. The papers. Even the maps. This is useless!” the advisor exclaimed.

“Could we not decipher it? Surely the Academs have some knowledge that could help us.”

“This code isn’t a simple substitution or a shift in letters. I tried those in my head already. It's far more complex, and from my meetings with Levedi, I wouldn’t be surprised if it is more complex than anything the Academs have seen before. The Academs would take years to decipher this writing, but by then, the Istrians will be far too ahead for these papers to be any help to us.”

“Why not take the papers anyways, just in case? We could still blame it on Diplomat Levedi acting churlish, per the king’s recommendation.”

“The king is a fool. A diplomatic transgression like this would be disastrous; our neighbours would turn. We can barely handle a fight against one enemy, let alone a full-on war against several. They may have been weakened by the last Shivering, but so were we. Look outside and you will see people asking for the king’s head. Leave the papers for now and wait here with this whore. Let Levedi know that she was snooping and we caught her, and if he sees other problems, blame them on her as well. We will sort her out later. I have to go now and inform the king about this development. Storms, I have wasted too much time with this girl’s cursed games.”

Advisor Sweren rushed out of the room. Sir Bucken watched attentively as the advisor left, and waited until the advisor’s footsteps could not be heard before moving to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of wine and collapsed into a chair, taking swigs of the wine every few moments.

“Damn, this is the good shit. Wish they would stock the Officer Chamber with this,” he muttered to himself. He then looked up at Nira and said, “You really fucked up, huh? Don’t think too much about what they are going to do to you, because you won’t remember much after they do it anyway,” letting out a chuckle at his own twisted humor.

The last thing in the world Nira wanted to do was to be stuck in a room with this man. She didn’t know what was going to happen to her. She could be beaten. Or tortured. Or shamed. From light to darkness, everything had changed so fast. It was sort of funny how life could flip in a second. Like a coin in the air, in one moment, it’s heads, and the other, it’s tails.

“Why would you even think doing something like this would be a good idea? I probably will have to pick up extra shifts because of this too. Somehow, your fuck up will become my fuck up. How messed up is that?”

“Please... don’t talk.”

“Ha, as you wish. I guess I can be a little nice. It's your funeral coming up anyway.”

The next few moments were excruciatingly long. Every now and then, Sir Bucken would get up from his chair and wander around the room, maybe making a comment about the mess created due to Nira’s actions. Nira paid no attention. Everything around her blended into the backdrop, and she was alone on center stage.

She had done the right thing. She was sure of that. So, why did it hurt so much?